A Girl of Ice and Fire (Re: Zero ASOIAF)
by accelerator 231
Summary: Mirrored worlds. A girl finds and heals a wounded boy. But this isn't Lugnica. And this isn't Subaru. This is someone else. But the story isn't about him, its about the half-elf who found herself in Flea Bottom. Where she is the strongest sorcerer. And where injustice and evil is rife. This is unaccepable. Time to rock this world on its axis.
1. Chapter 1

James looked at the rats, scurrying around him.

He looked at the dirt and mud, caking the streets of Kings Landing, in Flea bottom.

He looked at the blood flowing out from within him, onto the ground, slowly mixing with the mud and turning it into a reddish brown sludge. His vision began to fade, and his body began to feel heavy. He was dying. He could feel it. This was the end for him, huh? Dying alone in an empty alley in Fleabottom, with his body soon to be thrown into a ditch and devoured by rats. Born into stink and shit, and dying in it as well. Darned.

He had been so bloody stupid...

He had been called... James the knight. It was a jest, at first. A mockery. But he took it up, all the same. It was a title, after all, and titles always had power. Just look at the goldcloaks and the nobility. He had found a sword, finding on the corpse of a sellsword that was lying dead in a back alley behind the whorehouse. Poor bastard must have taken one of the girls out to the back, before she stabbed him and left him for dead. He didn't have any coins left with him, but he still had a sword. And, well, in Flea bottom one took any advantage they could get. Even if the advantage was a poorly made bastard sword that was barely a sharpened hunk of metal.

He had taken to bringing it around for show, swaggering to show it off. Using it to intimidate other people to give him a wide berth. Used it to scare off a bunch of punks hoping to cause trouble. Even then, he had started to practice swinging it, pretending to be a knight. Finding out and figuring out how to best use it to slash, stab, and kill. He even managed to score a few kills using it, further cementing his reputation and his street cred. He had a name now. James Falseknight. Piss him off, and he'll gut you with that sword he's using. People began to respect him now. Began to even call him 'sir'. Hah!

Then he forgot that overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer, and got shanked in the stomach by a street urchin while his buddies distracted him.

"Am I going to die here, like a dog? Like a sack of garbage with no hope, nor future?" He wondered. He could even hear voices now.

"Are you alright? What happened? Its ok, I'll save you!" Ah, what a beautiful voice. Like silver bells. Was that the angels of the seven, that his mother had told him about so long ago? Or was it the maiden? He felt his body being rolled over, and for a moment, he faced the sky. And then he saw the angel.

Beautiful. Silver hair, with purple eyes. Lips that looked so soft and alluring. A face, filled to the brim with concern. Concern for him. This was the first time he had seen such an expression directed to him. He felt two hands placed on his stomach, and a warm feeling travel across the stab wound.

"Its too late. I'm going to die." He thought. But it was still a nice feeling, though.

The last thing he saw, before the world went black, is the girl turning her face, and... pointed ears?

A/N: Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

James awoke.

He was... alive?

He wasn't in the seven hells? Then that means that what he saw before his sight faded must have been a dream. A nice dream, though. Seven hells, that girl was beautiful.

"You shouldn't move too much after a stabbing like that. The bleeding might have been stopped, but moving too much or acting to strenuously might cause you unnecessary injuries. For now, just rest."

A voice like silver bells... wait, what on earth?

It was at this point that he realized his position. He was still lying on his back, facing up. But the wound on his stomach no longer burned, and he longer felt himself weakening. Instead, except for a dull ache, the stab itself no longer hurt. He was still in that filthy alley, still covered in blood... and as he looked up, he saw himself looking up to one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.

Pale, creamy and smooth skin. Purple eyes gazed down upon him, somehow exotic yet filled to the brim with concern. Silver hair surrounded her face, pale white, making her look appear angelic. Like that of the Targaryens, or the rumored prostitutes of Lys.

The prettiest girl he had ever seen... and he was lying on her lap. It was so comfortable. He felt as if he could just lie there forever...

"Hey, you better not be thinking dirty thoughts about my daughter! Otherwise, I'll have to freeze several of your body parts off!" A high pitched voice appeared out of nowhere, startled, James leapt to his feet, abandoning that extremely comfortable position to look around. He saw noone, no one that could have spoken yet remained hidden. Where was he? Where was the threat?

"Puck, don't startle him. He's just been injured. Give him a break." The girl's voice rang out, with a note of admonishment towards the speaker. Then he saw who had spoken. A strange, ferret like creature, was... floating in the air? It was small, enough to fit in his hand, with a tail several times its body length. Its fur, was grey and white. A small purple accessory was hanging on its shoulder. And it was... talking and floating?

"A demon? Or a spirit?" He asked, stupefied by the sight before him. Old man Septon had always warned against beings like this, monsters guised in unremarkable or even attractive forms, hoping to tempt men away from the Light of the Seven. At least, that as what he said when he wasn't chugging down wine or being stone cold drunk. Was this what he meant? But the girl had saved his life. Surely it couldn't be all that bad.

"I don't know what you're thinking of, but don't be so scared. As long as you're not a danger to my daughter, I don't really care about you." the creature was now winking at him, spinning around in the air without a care in the world. It didn't look dangerous, but you could never tell with magic. And that would explain how he was still alive. He only hoped that it didn't render him sterile. Or later transform him into a withered husk of a man. "So... you're friendly? Not going to cripple my limbs, blind me, or render me sterile? Nor transform me into a withered corpse?"

That prompted a retort from the girl. "Of course not. Puck would never do such a thing. Besides, I need something from you." Of course. No one helped another for help. Not in Kings Landing. Especially not in Flea bottom. What would she ask for? Coin? Money? Service? Be her slave? Nobles like her were always capricious and unreasonable. Whatever. If it was too much, he'll just kill her. Not like sorcerers are good in close combat, anyway.

"I would like you to tell me where I am. Just a few minutes ago, I was in the forest. And then I suddenly found myself within this city. Tell me, where am I in Lugnica?" The girl seemed to be... totally lost. In fact, she didn't seem to even know that this was the capital. James had never heard of Lugnica. If it existed, it was very very far from Kings Landing.

"I'm afraid... that I've never heard of that place. If it exists, its quite far from here. I'm afraid that if you go there, you'll probably need to either hire a wagon or take a ship." This did not seem to surprise nor deter the girl. Brushing her skirts, she began to leave. "Thank you for your help. Let us meet again."

"Wait! Is that all? You saved my life! Aren't you going to ask for more? I didn't even help you!" James didn't usually look a gift horse in the mouth. But this was a new thing for him. Someone had helped him, even saved his life... and did not ask for anything in compensation. This had literally never happened before. People don't help each other in Flea Bottom. The entire place was rotten, from top to bottom. For goodness sake, he had seen men kicking children's corpses into ditches without anyone even raising an eyebrow! Even if James was no her, he couldn't stand the thought of having his life saved and not doing anything with it.

"Do you even know where this place is?" A shake of the head confirmed his suspicions. "This is Flea Bottom, of Kings Landing. This is a total shithole. I don't know what kind of magic you have. But if you're not prepared here, you'll get enslaved, robbed, killed, or worse. At the very least, let me escort you around. They call me the False Knight. People tend to give me a wide berth. Or at the very least, let me bring you back to my place. Unless you have someone waiting for you back at home?"

The girl blinked, and replied. "No, I have no family nor friends back there. Its just a familiar environment. Though... this place does seem rather run down." She glanced at the dirty walls and the trash littering the streets. "There's no need for you to invite me back. Its just a small thing I did-"

"Small thing!" This time, James was almost shouting, but he held himself back. "You saved my life. I admit it, I'm not a good person. Nor a decent one. But let it never be said that I am ungrateful." With that, she could only nod, albeit hesitantly. "Oh, and by the way, what's your name? Mine's James."

"Emilia."

"That's a wonderful name." he said absentmindedly. "Also another thing. With that appearance of yours, please cover your face. It'll get you killed or kidnapped over here."

A/N: Please review. Especially the dialogue.


	3. Chapter 3

The introductions was finished, and now back to work. First of all, was the greatest of all needs. Food. "You got any money on you?" asked James. She shook her head, holding out a pair of open palms, signifying that she had nothing.

Nothing but the clothes on her back, huh? That was unfortunate. But… there were ways and means of getting money. Even in Flea bottom. Or at least a meal. He took her hand, and pulled her up. "I know a way that you can find work," He said, to her face. "But you gotta be careful. Most people…. If they knew what you could do, they would kidnap you, and enslave you. Be discreet, okay?" She nodded, her innocent eyes wide.

They went out, back into the street. He remembered. Old man Lan. A… shady character, but honourable in his own way. He remembered how he couldn't run much anymore, since he got that infection on his leg. A sore. One that leaked pus and ran red. The maester had said that it was untreatable, but with this girl's abilites….

They passed by several alleys and backs of houses, and each time Emilia saw a body or a child, she stopped, and he had to pull her away. Stupid girl. If you stopped for everyone, you would never be able to do anything. And you'll die, too. He pulled her on her hands, pulling her away from a child begging for money in a corner, his hands held out forlornly, his blind eyes staring unblinking.

"You can't help them yet." He whispered, trying to keep himself calm. This girl was going to kill herself. "Help yourself. Then help them. You are no use dead." The girl could only shake her head, probably out of stubbornness. Nevermind then.

They got to a door. A small house, barely a few rooms, sandwiched between a bar and an inn. The house looked rickety, but the windows and door was barred with stout steel. The owner, did not want anyone to break in by force. He knew what to do. Taking the door knocker, he knocked a short rhythm, that would designate him as a friend. He waited for a short while, fidgeting along with Emilia. The city around him bustled, the stink pricking his nostrils more than usual. He could feel Emilia's hand in his own, as it moved as she looked back and forth, seemingly in shock 'Never seen such suffering before, eh? Girl'. He thought smugly to himself.

The door opened, and they went in. Behind them, the door swung shut, and was barred with a metal latch and a wooden block. The air was musty, and lighted up with dirty candles. The room was dirty, filthy, covered from corner to corner with miscellaneous items. Baubles, swords, staves, jewellery, clothes… all of it piled up in haphazard piles, in some strange sort of organization. He had come here before, and long since given up on discerning Old Man Lan's pattern or figuring out how he knew where his stuff was. Now, his purpose was food. And contacts.

The man in question, was a balding man with grey hairs and a stout, strong body. His eyes were half-closed, as if he had spent too much time squinting with them and forgotten how to look normal. His nose was bent, with a scar across his right cheek that was a deep, angry red. Arms were burly with work moving heavy goods back and forth. But that image of strength was false. As the image of masculinity moved, it was hesitant and jerky. Old Man Lan had a limp. Probably from some dirty water or something. Maybe a wound from a pin or a knife. But it didn't matter. Being wounded or crippled in Flea Bottom was a death sentence, and everyone knew it. That was why there was the door knocker and the barricades. People were already eying his territory, and no one was willing to risk his neck for Old Man. His days were numbered, until someone worked up the courage to break the door down and slit his throat while he stood there helpless; until his wound was healed.

Jaime put on his best smile, and waved. "Hey, Old Man. Long time no see. Got any food?"

"None for you, damned kid. You cleaned out my stocks. Besides, who's that. Some noble or merchant? Damn you, if you get the goldcloaks on me, I'll rat you out." As always, he was grumpy. But he didn't throw him out. Good sign.

"Nah. He's just some mysterious medicine man. Remember all those rumours of the magix and grumpkins? Those tricks made by those old crones? He can do it." Lan looked at him like he was an idiot, or insane. He couldn't blame him. The past few hours made him think he was dreaming. He turned to look at Emilia, looking at her eyes hidden beneath the hood, telling her to play along.

"You got a wound, right? Mind if you show it to us?" He looked at him for a moment, then bent down, to show the wound. The sore was festering, releasing pus from the hole, the surrounding skin an angry red. The sore itself was the size of a thumbnail, and as he watched, some…. Filthy liquid oozed from it. That was bad.

He pointed it to Emilia, hoping that she would get the message. She bent down, hands over the wound. And a glow erupted from her hand, streaming over the sore. First was a wave of energy that cleansed away the black gunk and the pus filling it, and the red colour faded from the skin. Then a green light shone, and the broken skin began to mend itself back together. After the glow faded, nothing was left, except for flawless skin. It was as if nothing had happened there.

Old Man Lan bent over, looking at his leg, and took a few steps. "What! Its as if nothing had happened!" He took a few more steps, walking in a circle. He looked at Emilia, hidden under her hood with new eyes. "Heya, sir, why don't you fix up this scar? It always hurts when the day's cold." Emilia complied, her hands reaching up to his face. Another glow, and the angry red scar, poorly stitched shut, was gone, with only smooth skin. He rubbed his face, blinking and looking at his hand.

He went to the back, and came back, with some polished hand mirror. Looking into it, he spied on his cheek, feeling for the scar. Nothing happened. Lan placed the mirror on a counter, looking at Jaime and Emilia. "Well…. That's certainly something. You've earned your keep, kid. Maybe food for a week?"

A week. That was good. But he couldn't just let that get by. "A week? How many maesters are willing to do work for a wharf scum like you? Who has the skill to fix up the scar, and heal that sore? How much money does it cost, even, for the medicines. Besides, we know that you couldn't defend yourself with a bad leg like that. More."

Old Man Lan grimaced at that, and his eyes burned with anger for a moment. But only for a moment. Then he shrugged. "So how much?"

"A month."

"Deal."

They walked out of the shop, chewing on cheese and bread. He grinned at Emilia, and he saw that she returned it, her cheeks stuffed with food. He swung an arm over her shoulder, putting his head alongside hers. "See, Emilia? That's you do business. And backscratching."

"Backscratching?" her words were still muffled with the food.

"Yep. Scratch my back, I scratch yours. That's how you survive in hell. You saved me. I give you a home, and teach you stuff. You heal someone, they give you food. That's how you get around and don't die. Maybe you heal a bunch of mercenaries, and they'll protect you or somethin'. Or for coin." she nodded at that. Good. Maybe she won't be a walking target for everyone with a shiv.

"Anyway, let's just go home now."

They went home, barring the door behind them. By this time, the sun had already set, and the night itself was darkening. Emilia had helped this time, again, with her magic, a light had sprung from her hand. The walk back home had been surprisingly… secure, without needing to fear an attack springing from the shadows, and being able to actually watch out for any detritus was a boon that James hadn't predicted.

The trip back was without incident, and as they turned to retire, entering the room he had in his house. Until James realized something.

There was only one bed.

Truly, it was not much of a bed. A small bunch of crates and boxes of equal height, stacked together to form a flat, hard surface on the floor, above the rats and the dirt. And then covered by stolen sheets, rags, and such. And then padded with several bags of cotton he had somehow stolen, and a pillow he had taken from a merchant house had broken into.

It wasn't much. But it was his. One of the few luxuries he had. The problem was, was that he couldn't even imagine ordering Emilia to sleep on the dirty floor. The very idea of that beautiful skin and pale white clothing even laying to rest on the filthy floor brought shivers to his body. He suppressed the sudden nausea. Yet, he didn't want to lie on the floor, either!

"What's wrong?" a voice asked, beautiful in the night. He looked at her. She had seated there, on a crate beside the bed, the wooden box acting like a chair.

Even in the dim candle light, she was beautiful. Her face, one masked with concern. She had pulled her hood down, and her hair now spilled across her shoulders, the silver shining the darkness, only matched by the paleness of her skin. Her purple eyes, her lips…. He could barely describe it. He made his decision. She had saved his life, and been the first…. friend he had. He had run about with the boys at the pub, and had a few acquaintances at the seedier taverns. But nothing like this.

"There's only one bed. You take it. I'll… find another way." He sighed internally. He supposed that he'll have to take the floor. He sighed, and motioned for her to take the bed.

She looked at it, seemingly puzzled. "Why don't we simply share?" She asked, as if she hadn't just asked him something absurd. He looked at her, wondering if she was truly this sheltered. Does she truly know? Where on earth was she here, before she came in Flea bottom? Some kind of Convent? Most definitely not of the Silent Sisters… some sheltered nobleman's bastard daughter, hidden from the world?

"Urm…." James fumbled, for the first time in his life feeling anxious and awkward at someone before him. He always had a quip or a one-liner, but before Emilia's wide eyes and tilted head, he suddenly felt that it would be far too…. Unholy to tell her of these things. Perhaps he could simply try and tell her in a roundabout way?

"Well, let's just say that…. Falling asleep, beside a man, in a strange location, may be bad for you. You might get hurt, or something. Basically, normally women don't sleep next to strange men, because of danger." He tried to articulate his words, trying to get the message across.

It didn't work.

"Are you going to hurt me, James?" The question was mischievous, and he could see those eyes looking at him. By the Seven, those beautiful eyes. "Never."

She giggled at that, her face lighting up into a smile, and James felt something flutter within his stomach. Embarrassment, or panic? Did he say something stupid? Was she thinking him a miserable fool, or an idiot at best?

She stood up suddenly, and grabbed onto his arm. Surprised, he lost his balance, and fell onto the bed with a soft 'Oomph'. He looked at Emilia, her eyes looking at him wide with excitement. She made a motion with her hand, and the candles went out, plunging them into darkness.

"Goodnight, James."

"… Goodnight, Emilia."


	4. Chapter 4

The girl awoke, and stirred as the clamor of morning began outside the small house she found herself in. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she propped herself up on her elbow, looking upon the boy sleeping beside her. His face was, in the dim light, serene, devoid of that usual smirk and sneer on his face. A feeling stirred within her. Ah, friendship. That must be it.

She patted his head, and whispered a morning greeting to him, watching him as he started to twist and turn from the disturbance, his face frowning.

And then, she went out, into the world she had found herself in. The place was, as usual, dirty and smelly. On the streets, humanity roamed. Street urchins and men with shifty eyes. Men and women in rags, head bowed down, and rough looking men covered in scars. On the wayside, a man with a crutch and a bowl before him, begging for money. Over the din of humanity, a man was speaking in a loud voice. A preacher.

She remembered the cult of the hero.

She ducked into a deserted alleyway, making sure that no one was inside. No one noticed. Everyone's eyes were avoiding each other, as if to stick out was to court death. She had covered her white-covered cloak with a more dirty one made of brown, making sure that she did not attract attention.

From James' reaction, magic here was disliked and feared. Such things were not unheard of, and so it was imperative that no one saw her when she was on her morning rituals.

Keeping herself to a secluded corner, she clasped her hands to her chest, and began to softly chant, soft pink lips enunciating the words that please the spirits. Surrounding her, lights began to appear. Shaking, laughing, jittering like fireflies, the spirits of the world, though somehow weakened, still existed. Still remembered the contract.

Morning ritual completed, she stood out from the alleyway. She had watched James, as he had carried out his work yesterday. Negotiate. Set prices high. Act outraged. Look for people with personal connections he could leverage. Get favours. Haggle. That was enough for her. She started to walk.

She heard the commotion before she saw it. Three men, beating up another, on the ground. The men were rough-looking, muscled and scarred. Their victim was different. Greying hair, with sunken cheekbones. His arms were over his head, shielding his skull and face from the vicious kicks and stomp his attackers were launching upon him. Already, she could see blood runing from a cut on his forehead. Meanwhile, his attackers were screaming. "Where the hell is the gold you took from us, asshole! What, did you swallow it or something? Do you want us to cut open that fat belly of yours? Or is it just alcohol by now?"

She could take this no more. Channeling mana through her gate, water vapour surrounding her condensed into ice, appearing from seemingly thin air. The projectiles were blunt, and hovered there at her command.

She gave one warning. "Halt! I cannot allow you to go further. Release that man!"

One of the thugs turned around, and glared at her. "Who the hell are you? Besides, this guy stole money from us!" The man on the ground peeked at her, from beneath his arms, his eyes watering and a trickle of blood going down his face.

She shook her head. "Go. Now." At that, she launched half her projectiles at them, striking the wall and shattering the stone. "Maleficarium!" shouted one of the men. The others just gaped, and fled from her, swiftly rounding about a corner.

She sprinted to the injured man on the ground, and held a hand towards his temple, a soft glow closing the cut. "Are you ok-"

"Phew! I can't believe I got away with it!" He shouted, fishing a hand inside his cloak. Out came... a pouch, with a clinking sound. He grinned at it, a smirk on his face. "Thanks, friend! I don't know what kind of thing you did, but you scared them off! How about this? Half for me, and half for uurrrrgghhhh?" The air temperature dropped like a stone. The man's breathe misted in the air as he croaked, whether in shock or fear, none were sure. The mud-caked street froze, the mud freezing solid and becoming slippery, and the surrounding stonework began to slowly turn white.

Emilia, on her part, was furious with herself. A storm of emotions roared within her, as she realised that she had inadverently caused injustice and had aided a robber. She had been too hasty and stupid, and had attacked and threatened three... likely innocent men. She gritted her teeth, and glared at the man she had came to heal. The healing glow disappeared from her hand, and she summoned the remaining half of her ice projectiles, using mana to warp and twist their shapes. The cylinders were transformed into sharp spikes, wicked points glinting wickedly in the morning light.

"Aaaarrrrrgggghhh!" Screamed the man as he saw the sharpened ice spikes pointing directly at him. He scrambled backwards, his hands and feet slipping on the frozen ground as he desperately tried to put some distance between himself and his saviour-turned soon to be murderer. His face became a mask of terror, and his eyes widened as he saw that the ice spikes simply drifted closer to him, until he had backed up into the wall, with nowhere to escape.

"Wait... wait... wait! You can take it all! Take it all! Don't kill me!" He raised his hands, pleading. "Please don't kill me! I'll work for you! Just don't kill me!"

Emilia sighed, as she looked upon the pathetic sight and smell. With a mental command, she turned the ice into water, and it fell, dropping onto the street with a splash. The man looked at her, hope appearing on his face.

She pointed to where the previous thugs had fled. "Go. Return it to them now."

"But..."

"Return it. Now. What do you need the money for, anyway?"

"I'm thirsty. Been a long time since I had some honeywine."

"So alcohol? Even more inexcusable. Return it now."

"I suppose we should thank you for getting him to return it to us. Though you needn't have bothered. We weren't going to kill him. Just rough him up a bit. Hank's always been an idiot when it came to drink. Just... give him some stuff, and then he'll just be out of your hair."

The man talking to her was from before, Marcus, was a man with black hair, a chiselled face, and an angry red scar running down his cheek. She detected a slight nervousness from him. Maybe he was still afraid after the show of power? It seems that mages here were rare...

Even in the darkness of the tavern she had found herself in, 'the drunken clam', it was called. She could see Hank. He was drinking from a cup, given to him after he mumbled an apology. It seems taht his friends were... rather forgiving fellows.

"I apologize. I thought that I was seeing a robbery occurring, and acted hastily. My selfishness and rashness caused you hurt."

"Nah, its... ok, I guess. I'm sure that we can all start up a deal for compensation both parties can be satisfied with." he turned to his two friends beside him, each with their own drinks, and they nodded.

Emilia realized, that this was her chance. Both to get a reputation, carry out reparations, and get contacts. "That scar... does it hurt?" She pointed at it, the line an angry red.

Marcus put a hand up to it, tracing it with a finger. "No need to worry about it, my friend. You should have seen the other guy." Emilia pushed forward. "So... it hurts, right? That red tinge is a mark of infection and inflammation. It might rot and kill you. How say that I heal it?"

Marcus grinned, and said. "So... a maester or a healer? Nice. Though I checked the resident healer. She said it should be down by a week or so, and won't get infected. Besides, it'll leave a good scar. Women love that, don't ya know?"

Emilia nodded at that, trying to search for more excuses. "So... how about healing it now? I see you wincing and twitching. The scar hurts, doesn't it? Its painful to talk, and even worse to eat and drink, right? Would you accept having it healed right now, as compensation?"

Marcus could only grin, and nodded. "If you can actually do it. Never heard of a potion or paste that could heal so fast."

"Its not a potion."

Emilia's hand went up to Marcus' cheek, right beside the scar, and began to glow a soft green. "Heal."


	5. Chapter 5

The glow covered the wound, and then faded. And Marcus's hand shot up to caress his cheek. The scar was gone. From a dirty, swollen line on the side of his face, oozing black and yellow bile, with the surrounding flesh an angry red. Now, the infected flesh and filth had been purged by fire, and the damaged and inflamed flesh healed by the spirits under Emilia's command. What was now a brutal disfigurement was now a narrow, pink scar.

Marcus caressed his cheek, his face's expression changing from one of worry to one of amazement. He turned to his friends, who had been standing back and had seen the glow. "Brothers, do you see anything? Is the cut from that damned knife gone now?"

His friends rushed over, shoving away tables and chairs before them. They surrounded him, all 3 of them, and examined his scar, feeling it and tracing it with their hands. "Blimey mate, its gone!" "This is most intriguing, the wound is healed, and in no time at all." "This must be a miracle! Praise the Seven! Come, my friends, let us inform the Septon!"

Marcus waved them off using his arms after they began shouting, shooing them away. "Gah! Get away from me, you imbeciles! Calm down." He turned to Emilia, whose face was still hidden beneath her cloak. "Thank you for that. That had been hurtin' like hell for some time. The healer's said that the only thing he could do for me without the supplies was prayer. How'd you do that? And, what is the price? Because if you're wondering, I don't have any first born children."

Perking her head in in mild surprise, Emilia looked at him, expression somewhat ashen. She wondered what happened that caused such a bad outlook on mages and sorcerers in general. "I... did not mean for that. This is the payment for the mistaken attack. Though I will be grateful if you helped to introduce me to others. I can heal people and cure diseases, amongst other things. Contacts and connections, for mutual benefit."

Marcus looked at her, slightly mystified. "Well, you certainly helped heal the scar that's been making it hard for me to get company for the past few moons, and stopped the itch. So I'm eager to help. Though I wonder why you want to make connections here. With those abilities of yours, you can go up to the Red Keep and rub shoulders with royalty."

Emilia just shook her head at that. She had never truly interacted with nobility, much less royalty. And she wasn't planning on doing it anytime soon.

Besides, don't they already have their own doctors?

"So... you want to keep your head down. Can't say I don't know how that feels like. So you want to go out and send your services to the poor? Well, I'm just the man for you. I know enough people, people on the down and outs, that you can spend your whole day healing and helping them."

He turned to the door. "You coming?"

Emilia nodded, and followed him. Marcus's friends, stayed behind, waving them off.

"May the seven bless you." The blessing was spoken in awe, given by a young woman dressed in drab brown. She would have been pretty, if it was not for the fact that her face was haggard, and covered in dark smudges. In her hands, was a child. Before, he had twisted and turned, his head burning up in a fever that the local healer had diagnosed would kill him in less than a moon's turn. Now, he slept soundly in his mother's arms, the fever gone.

Emilia motioned, and the woman turned, and the next man came over. This time, there was a cut on his arm, that had festered and turned black. She frowned, concentrating her mana to burn away the rotten flesh and enhance the vitality of the healthy portion. The man sighed, almost in relief, as the corruption was purged from his body and the wound began to close up.

"It is wondrous, isn't it? I wonder how you do it?" The voice came from beside her. She did not bother to turn, as she concentrated on her patient.

Septon Aerion, was a man in his early 40s. A man with a bald spot and greying hair, his face always lit in a smile. His septon's robes were plain, but they were clean and undamaged. He had welcomed them into his sept, a humble building at a small corner of Flea Bottom, and had remained remarkably calm as she had begun healing his parishioners. In fact, he had helped, sending in people that he knew were ill and calming those who seem to fear her magic.

With a small mumbled thank you, the last one left. That one had a boil on her, that had been filled with pus. An infection beneath the skin. Emilia had healed her, and sent her away. Now they were alone in the sept. The wooden benches creaked, as a chilly wind blew through. The statues of the seven gods of these people were lit by the lone candle placed in the middle of the floor.

"I'm surprised that you let me near them. Aren't you afraid that I may harm them?" She asked. The man simply smiled, shaking his head. "No one wishes to harm them. No one cares for them. And I've heard from Marcus, and he doesn't make things up. You most definitely have ways to harm them beyond casting fake healing. Besides," He glanced at the door. "Your treatment, though unorthodox, is effective. These people had no one to care for them for a long time. It is nice to see someone so charitable."

Emilia felt shame at that. This nice preacher had misinterpeted her intent. "It is simply my selfishness, that is all. No need for such praise."

He laughed at that, waving at the many alms and thanksgivings that grateful people had given after being healed of their ailments. Emilia had wanted to stop them, but Aerion had let them do it. "let them keep some of their pride." he said. Emilia could do nothing, but nod wordlessly at that.

Now, the sept was empty. Aerion had explained, saying that usually, he did not have many visitors. Just people praying for the Seven to help them, or people looking for food. Now, it seems that a miracle had happened, and the Seven had smiled on them."

He pointed at Emilia. "Thank you. The maiden must have sent you. Or perhaps, the mother. Tell me, what do you know of the Seven?"

Emilia shook her head. "I've... never heard of them. Actually, I've never really heard of much about religion. Save for the spirits." At that, Aerion perked up. "Spirits? I have heard of them. Grumpkins and snarks, I've heard them say. What do you say of them?"

"One of them is my father." At that, Aerion smiled a sad smile. A sad smile filled with pity. He laid a hand on her shoulder, still wearing that smile. "It is alright, my son. It is alright. Please, if it is alright with you. Tell me more about your father. If you are comfortable with it."

"There's no need. Because I'm right here!" With a shout, Puck appeared, teleporting into thin air via spirit materialisation. Floating in the air, tail behind him, arms crossed, with a triumphant look on his face, Puck literally beamed at the Septon, whose face was now two feet from him.

Septon Aerion fainted with a soft sigh, his body crumpling onto the floor. Emilia rushed to him, laying her hands on him to check for wounds. "What on earth did you do to him, Puck?" she cried, as she checked him over. No wounds nor illnesses. Good. But why did he faint?

"I don't know." said Puck, shrugging. "I just appeared in front of me. Maybe I shouldn't have shocked him that much? I don't think anyone here actually knows of spirits. Or even believe they exists." That made Emilia pause. Really? Not believing in spirits?

"Yes, my daughter." Said Puck, reading her thoughts and speaking her true gender for the first time in days. "Not much magic in this place. Also, continue hiding your face and gender. I wouldn't trust these people with a single cent, let alone your true appearance."

That made Emilia indignant. "That's not true! Marcus and James are fine people, I'm sure!" she could not imagine it. That shy little boy. A bad person? Harm her? Unlikely. Marcus seemed to gregarious and too friendly to be a danger to her.

"Still, don't let them know too much of you. Just listen to me this once, my dear Emilia." She could only nod at that. Puck kinda knew more than her...

"So what do we do with the Septon?"

Puck looked at the body of the man. "Just put him in some place to rest, like one of the benches or the bed. Then get his assistants to watch over him. Then go to the drunken clam for your next assignment. I'm not going to try telling you to not bother with these people, so I might as well get you to finish as fast as possible."

The second person she was sent to see, were two learnt alchemists. She had told Marcus that she wanted someone with medical knowledge that could help her, and he had led her to this place. A dilapidated shack. "They're pretty good at healing. If you can cough up the coin. In fact, the maester here was the one that helped stitch up my face. If it weren't for him, I'll be dead." Marcus grinned, pointing at the door. "He's got three silver rings. Pretty good at medicine for that. Don't know why he's here. But if you want someone to help you set bones and give patients medical advice, he's the guy."

Marucs leaned into the door, and then knocked. Then knocked again. Then knocked again, harder. Frowning, he turned to Emilia. "I don't think anyone's here. They've probably went out for-" Emilia then heard Puck shouting on the telepathic link. "Emilia! I sense two people in there, fading fast!"

Emilia raised her hand, pointing it at the door, mana glowing through her gloves. Marcus saw what was about to happen, and let out a yell, throwing himself to the side. Then a hammerblow of ice shot from Emilia, hitting the door and dispersing into ice crystals, letting light stream through the door. Inside, she could see two men. One collapsed before a table. Another in the bed. Both uttered faint groans.

Leaping in, she healed them both. Both were suffering from gastric pains. It seems that a form of stomach infection had hit them both, with one getting the symptoms before the other, and the unaffected one had tried to brew a cure before being taken down by the disease as well. She purged their bodily systems of the infection, before setting them both on the bed, and dripping water into their mouths to stay off dehydration. There. Now they will survive. Turning to Marcus, she said. "They're not going to awake for awhile. So... what to do?" Marcus just shrugged. Seemingly unfazed by the display of power.

"Eh, I'll just rustle up a bunch of boys to take care of them. They're pretty useful. Pretty popular." He turned away, intent on going onto the next assignment. "Well, time's a-wasting. Let's go."

After a healing a drunken knight and a wealthy merchant's wife and son, Emilia was starting to feel her mana drain. Now the sun had long-since set, and she was feeling tired. She gazed wearily upon the last assignment, and last house.

She remembered seeing things like this before. Puck had told her to never go close to these places. She hadn't seen them very often, but she knew enough about the signs. The sighs and moans and smells were all very familiar, thank you very much. She walked in, hood drawn over her head. The wooden floors squeaked beneath her heels and over her head, and Marcus followed her inside, ducking his head over the low door frame.

The house was filled with the sounds of music and the smell of perfume. She kept her walk straight and her movements minimal. She did not like this place. Marcus stepped before her, and spoke to a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman dressed in moderately fine clothes. After a short talk, she went back, and brought in a young girl, bruised.

She had blue eyes, with long blonde hair. Soft lips. Her beauty was marred by the bruises forming over one of her eyes, a broken nose, and several lesions over her body. Emilia could smell sweet rot and bitterness, and she could see that the girl's eyes were empty. She turned to the matron, and made a questioning motion towards the girl.

"A rough customer. He got drunk. We threw him out, and he is never welcome here again. Can you heal her? She was one of our best, and now look at her. Barely good enough for a man drunk out of his wits."

Emilia bit down her retort at the woman's callousness, and began to heal the girl. First, repairing the blood vessels in the eye region. Then removing the viruses and infectious pathogens that caused the lesions in the girl's skin. And then injecting vitality and health into her, healing the wounds. And then, with a final twist, she twisted the girl's broken nose back, and healed the broken cartilage. All this while, she tried to distract the girl from her pain. "So what's your name?" she asked. No answer.

"Do you feel alright?" A nod, this time.

"So... do you wish to leave? Do they treat you well, here?" She asked, looking around at the house.

"Does it matter? At the very least, its better than out there." The girl jerked her head, motioning towards the doorway, into the dark streets. "At least here, there's someone to feed me and there's somewhere to sleep. There's nothing I can do out there, anyway." Emilia could feel the sorrow and sadness in her voice. At that moment, she was at a loss for words.

Her healing finished, she turned to Marcus. "Tell the lady that the healing is free, for now. I'm leaving." With that, she spun on her heels, and walked out back into the darkness.

In there, as she walked past streets, walking through a mixture of mud and blood, listening to sounds of screams and cries of terror in the night, she asked Puck. "What do you sense out there, Puck?"

"Terror. Despair. Hatred. Pain. Depression. Sadness."

"Do you think anyone is coming to save and help these peope, Puck?"

"If there was, do you think things will be as bad as it is now?"

Emilia was silent at that. She continued walking through the night.

"Puck?"

"I know what you're going to say, daughter. I know what you're going to say. And I know that no matter what, you're still going to do it. So let's get this over with."

"I'm going to help these people."


	6. Interlude 1

Interlude 1

The Maester and the Alchemist

Both knew where the other came from. Both never spoke about it. Both knew about it, anyway. In Flea Bottom, one always kept an eye an ear out. Both for work, and for the knife coming from behind. There was no pity, there. Neither could truly pity the other, for both had fallen from once great heights. And both, vowed to survive it.

Darik, was once a pyromancer of the Guild of Alchemists. A Wisdom of no little skill, he had spent his days storing wyldfire jars, preparing concoctions, and also the archives. Oh, how he loved the archives. The alchemists' spells no longer worked, but he loved them all the same. Reading and rereading them with an excited, almost childish glee, as he looked through fading scrolls and rotting books, looking at spells in First Man runes, the Common Tongue, and old Valyrian. He wasn't able to look at them for long. An altercation, with the Grandmaster. The girl had caught Darik's eye. And yet, that night, he had found the Grandmaster with his hands on her, the girl giggling in his embrace. Jealousy, betrayal, and anger had welled up in him. An altercation had ensued. His previously lofty position was lost, and his meager belongings thrown out into the streets, with him. With having lived his entire life within the Order, and having no outside connections, he went from door too door. Hungry, until he found himself in Flea Bottom. Some random merchant or townman has no need for a disgraced Wisdom of the Pyromancer guild... but cutthroats always need poisons and drugs, and there are always those who need a bit of extra edge, just to move a bit faster, survive a little longer. There, he found a place for himself in the world. It was not glamorous. From stony halls, to rotten wooden floors. No more assistants or libraries of precious books. But he was his own master, and that... was a reward in and of itself.

Bryce was a maester, in Oldtown. Coming into the place at the age of 20, he had forged many links. Four of Valyrian Steel. Three in Silver. Two in Yellow and Red-Gold. One Steel. One Lead. Accomplished, by many measures. However, there were many things which annoyed him. One, was the notice that highborns, were often the ones promoted first. Perhaps this was due to their blood, giving them greater intelligence and puissance. Or maybe it was simply bias on the side of the maesters and the fact that such highborn bastards usually had prior education before entering the Citadel. Bryce pushed for a pre-school, one that taught alcolyes the basics of reading, mathematics, and critical thinking that enabled one to ponder the mysteries of the world.

The masters refused. "Too much work" They said. "Too much expense, for too little gain." They said. "No need for that. Just use the highborn." said one. Another thing was the knowledge. Or rather, the lack of searching. Bryce hated the copying. But... he loved the searching. He wished that maesters didn't have to spend so much time copying the old books. Maybe hire some people to get scribes? And spend more time in research? The quest for knowledge was always paramount. But no one wanted to hear Bryce's talk. And so Bryce talked louder. Perhaps too loud. And soon, Bryce found himself stripped of his chain, and sent out into the world. Hitching a ride on a ship in exchange for his services, he found himself in King's Landing. Hoping against hope, he went about the noble and merchant houses. But... no one wanted a maester who had his chain stripped from him. Bryce couldn't truly blame them. Maesters who lost their chains, almost always had commited some heinous crime. But still, resentment and anger burned, until he went into flea bottom. And there he found work, for healers and men of medicine were rare there. And it was there, that he met Darik.

He had a staff. Darik had a knife. The knife was more lethal, but the staff had greater reach. A pyromancer. He was sure, that the knife was poisoned. The stand-off was intense... until Darik laughed. Then Bryce laughed, too. And both men embraced each other, recognising what each were. Men of knowledge and enlightenment, struck down by cruel fate. They had worked together, since then. Each grateful for the fact that a pair of educated and skilled hands was there to help. Darik, for someone who actually knew how to use a mortar and pestle, and measure liquids. Bryce, for someone who knew how to brew the potions and tinctures he needed for his medicine. It was good living, until of course, more misfortune had struck. Curse the gods.

Bryce blamed the bowl of brown. He always felt that the store-seller was shady. Darik had fallen first, coughing and wheezing, clutching his stomach. Then he had voided his stomach and bowels. Bryce had leapt forward, catching his friend and placing him under the blanket, a bowl there so that he can drink water, and went up to the stand. He lit a fire, and tried to brew a potion for his friend. Tincture, a mixture of poisons meant to destroy parasites within the stomach and intestines, as well as a laxative to flush out the toxins. He was halfway brewing, until he felt a pain in his stomach.

He, too, had drank from the same bowl of brown. He fell to the ground with a thud, the precious tincture spilling onto the ground, his friend groaning. Bryce could not move, so weak was his muscles and so great the pain. In despair, he could only stay on the floor, and hear his friend's groan become softer and softer, until he fell silent. Then Bryce's vision began to blur, and his mind began to go dark. _Not like this_ , a voice at the back of his head cried out. _Not like this. There is still so much knowledge ot find. We still have to show those old men that they were wrong._

Then Bryce's eyes closed, and the world went dark.

He awoke to Darik standing over him, passing him some hot soup. None of that garbage brown this time. Real soup. He gulped it down, and heard Darik tell of what had happened. Apparently, someone had came in. And healed them. And more importantly, had healed them without any requests for compensation, except for a request for tutelage by Bryce. Bryce had no idea why someone skilled enough to save their deaths would ask for his help. Then Darik dropped the wyldfire pot. He had used magic. There were eyewitnesses, that had literally seen flesh knitting themselves back together under a glow from the sorcerer's hands. They had seen wounds, black and red and filled with bile, suddenly become clean scars in less than a minute. There was even a woman who claimed that her son was once on a verge of death, but with a touch, this... sorcerer had healed him.

Obviously, something was to be found out here. And Bryce had always indulged his curiousity.

First, they investigated. No self-respecting Maester did not know the method of discovery, deduction, and questioning. First, they went to several dockhands. They were eager to answer, and talk about the miracle they had seen. Apparently a friend of theirs, Marcus, had gotten into a scuffle with a cutpurse and had gotten his face cut open. The wound had been stitched close, but the damage was severe. Bryce knew this man instantly. He remembered treating one such patient, several moons ago. The man's wounds had cut open down to the bone, and it was only due to the help of Darik, concocting several potions to make sure it did not rot, that the man was able to survive at all. Bryce had sewn the wound closed and cleaned it as well as possible. But it was near-impossible for it to finish healing.

Then Marcus walked in. And Bryce could not deny the truth of his eyes. He was an accomplished maester, and knew his wounds. The wound should still be inflamed and angry. But instead, as he traced the pink, think line, he could only marvel. Last he saw Marcus, several days ago, the wound was still in a terrible state. And now... it was nearly gone. He talked to him, and received the same information. Magic. A flash of light, a cooling sensation, and a gigantic, festering scar was now healed. He had to know more.

The woman was rather sceptical, and made to close the door in their faces when they approached. Not too surprising, really. She only opened up when Bryce told her that he was a maester, seeking new ways of healing. Then she began to chatter in that way all women do, and talked about this strange new healer in the church. Oh, how the Septon brought him here, to heal the sick and the infirm. Oh, how the healer placed his hands upon her sick child. Oh, how in flash of holy light, her child's illness was healed. Oh, praise the seven and their mercy!

Yeah yeah yeah. Bryce was a man of science. Not religion. He didn't believe in miracles nor grumpkins. He will get to the bottom of this, one way or the other. The sorcerer was working in the sept? Then to the sept he will go.

The septon, was a nervous man, full of jitters and seemingly in a state of great shock. Bryce couldn't blame him. Seeing things out of his narrow worldview must be a great difficulty for him. Upon questioning, he began to speak on what he had seen. He had been sceptical at first, knowing of quacks who had tried to trick the poor out of their meager savings or put them to perverted rituals. But his skepticism was cured in the first healing. Then the second. Then the third. And then, when the last man was cured and sent on his way, he was convinced. The holy man seemed to think that the sorcerer was some saint or hero sent over by the Seven, to give succor to the poor and vulnerable. Bryce then asked what happened afterwards. The septon then began to look embarassed, and became evasive.

Irritated, Bryce continued prodding in, trapping the Septon in his own words. Finally, he relented, and admitted what happened. Upon realizing that true magic was occuring within his humble sept, he had, in a flight of fancy, asked the sorcerer about the Seven. Bizarrely, he had denied knowledge of the seven, and instead spoke of spirits, one of which was his father. The Septon, believing that this young man to be struck by some mental malady, had attempted to extend some compassion... only to suddenly be struck down by surprise of a strange... cat-like creature that had appeared before his eyes. Then all went black.

That decided it for Bryce and Darik. Alone, this could be a fluke, or a rumour. The numerous eyewitnesses, physical evidence, and the septon's testimony itself pointed to one single conclusion. Someone here with magic saved them, and wishes to associate themselves with them.

This could be it. Bryce did not think of himself as humble, but he wondered why a sorcerer who was capable of medical miracles beyond mortal men, would want with him. Perhaps, as an assistant.

Nevermind. He would find out, soon enough.

It was morning, and he knocked on the door.


End file.
